


Enthralled

by AmeKinoko



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Self-Insert, Vampires, this was really self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:35:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22933411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmeKinoko/pseuds/AmeKinoko
Summary: You're a new recruit at Precinct 41's Major Crimes Unit. Your only other human coworker, Jean Vicquemare, stops showing up at the precinct. You go to check on him, and discover that he may not be as human as you thought...
Relationships: Jean Vicquemare/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Enthralled

Cop is the most common profession for Others. Probably because people are more likely to listen and obey when the speaker is part apex-predator, or can kill with a glance, or has the arm-strength to throw them across a room. So it didn’t shock you at all that Precinct 41’s Major Crimes unit (which deals with some of the worst shit) was mostly Others. The Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor is a werewolf, Judit is from a witch bloodline, Chester’s at least half-pixie, Mac is a were- _something_ … You’re pretty sure that even the consultant, Trant, has some Other blood. That smile isn't natural. The only regular human (besides you, now) is the Satellite-Officer, Jean Vicquemare.

At first, you thought he might be a higher demon—he certainly got angry enough, at times. But you never saw him spell-cast, and even the highest of higher demons can’t hide horns. The only unusual thing about him was that he seemed to survive off of coffee alone, but after a few weeks at the MCU, you were doing the same thing.

For all intents and purposes, he seemed like a regular human. So when he didn’t show up at the precinct for three days in a row, you were worried. Others miss days all the time: weres take the days around the full moon off, fae (and most spell-casters) take a week or two off every year for recharge rituals, and witches have rites to perform, but for normal humans (especially Jamrock cops), missing three days in a row is something to worry about.

So it seemed strange that nobody else at the precinct even batted an eye.

Even his _partner_ , the Lieutenant, just shrugged when you asked him about it.

But you were still worried.

… 

Which is why you’re standing outside his apartment at 11:43 PM. Alone.

You’ve knocked several times, but got no answer. _His MC’s outside. He has to be home._

So you try the doorknob. It’s unlocked. You step inside. It’s dark. Quiet.

But the moment you cross the threshold, something grabs you by the shoulder and pins you against the wall, knocking the wind out of you. You try and struggle free but to no avail; whatever-it-is is strong. 

You regain your breath and prepare to scream for help, but before you can, whatever-it-is drops you. In the darkness, you see a shadow move towards the far wall. There’s a clicking noise, and the overhead light flickers on, allowing you to see your attacker.

“___...?”

It’s Jean. 

He looks disheveled, hair sticking in all different directions, clothes rumpled. His eyes are bloodshot, like he hasn’t been sleeping. And in his mouth

protruding over his bottom lip

are fully extended

_fangs._

_Vampire._

_He’s Other after all._

You freeze up. Suddenly, a lot of things start to make sense—like how he always seems tired (vampires are naturally more nocturnal; being awake during the day is… unpleasant), or his insistence on wearing long sleeves (sun won’t kill vampires, but it hurts like a bitch after a while). Your brain makes several of these conclusions, but—thanks to the shock—all your mouth manages to produce is a sort of strangled “V-vamp—”

He curses and moves to hide his mouth with his hand, but almost instantly seems to realize how futile that is and puts it back down. “You shouldn’t have come in, I could’ve bitten— _fuck_ , ___, I’m so hungry that I could have _killed_ you.” 

That should scare you. And it does, but your mouth is already moving on its own. “But… what about the, the stipend…”

_All vampires get regular deliveries of donor blood, twice a month every month. A shockingly smart move by the Moralintern. It greatly reduced vampire-related deaths. You’ve even participated in the blood drives, almost annually since you were 14._

Jean sighs, running a hand through his hair (which only serves to mess it up even more). “Late. By almost four days now. And if it doesn’t come soon...” He trails off, but the implication is clear: he’s been staying home to keep from attacking other people, but he’ll probably lose that level of control soon. At that point, he won’t be much better than a wild animal. The deliveries are already stretched pretty far apart, so he really, really doesn’t have much time left. You can practically _see_ the effort it’s taking him to converse civilly with you.

You think about all of this.

And try NOT to think about the fact that you might possibly kinda have a big-little crush on him.

And then you do something very, very stupid.

You unbutton your shirt halfway, pulling it to one side to expose your neck and shoulder. “I, uh, have plenty of blood. You can have some, I mean, if you want.”

He’s on you in a second. Probably less than a second. You wheeze as you’re slammed into the wall for the second time, and for an instant, you wonder if you’re about to die. But then—with what must be a truly _heroic_ effort—he lets go of you. 

“Wait. Not… not here.” He points towards another dark room. “You’ll want to sit down.”

You follow him into what is revealed to be a small living room. He sits down on the couch and gestures for you to join him.

_It feels way, way more awkward now that you’re sitting down._

“So, uh…” You fiddle with your collar. “Now what?” 

With another lighting-fast movement, he rips your shirt all the way off your shoulder, shifting his body so that he’s almost on top of you. His breath is hot against your bare skin. “ _Just relax._ ”

And then he bites down.

It hurts. It hurts a lot more than you expected, and you feel tears well up in your eyes. However, as abruptly as it came on, the pain fades, and is replaced with… an almost pleasurable feeling. You could get used to this. The world around you starts to fade, including Jean’s mouth on your neck and the… swallowing sounds he’s making.

Your eyes widen slightly as you realize what’s happening. You’re being drugged. Injected, through the fangs? Or absorbed, through the saliva? Doesn’t matter. Some kind of compound, intended to subdue.

_This is why it’s so hard to catch vamps when they’re sucking someone dry. The victims like it. They don’t protest, or scream, or cry. They enjoy it. They enjoy it all the way to the last moment._

However, this thought is too complex to maintain in your current state, so you drop it, and relax into the dream-sensation.

After a while, Jean pulls away from you. He’s panting, wiping blood—your blood—from his mouth. You want to say something, maybe “you’re welcome,” but you feel too lightheaded to do anything more than stare. You’re vaguely aware of blood starting to drip down your neck, then down your chest.

Jean notices. Swearing, he hastily presses his mouth to the wound again. Not biting this time, but almost kissing, _licking—_

A thought surfaces in your head, trivia from some book read and forgotten many years ago. _The myth of vampires having “healing spit” is based around an actuality: their saliva contains an agent which encourages blood to clot faster, allowing them to keep thralls alive for multiple feedings._

Then: _Am I a thrall now?_

And then: _Shit, I think I’m about to pass out._

…

When you come to, you’re still on the couch, but there’s a blanket wrapped around you. Someone’s gently shaking your shoulders. Jean. “___? ___??”

“I passed out,” you tell him. 

Normally, he’d snap at you about stating the obvious, but he seems too relieved to be angry. Instead, he does something totally unexpected:

He _hugs_ you.

“Shit, ___… I haven’t had… fresh blood in so long, and I was so hungry… I shouldn’t have taken that much.”

This time, the “I could have killed you” isn’t voiced. Just implied. You’re still not fully lucid, though, so it doesn’t scare you as much as it really should. 

When he finally lets you go, you try to stand, but a wave of dizziness hits you and you fall back to the couch. 

“Fuck…” Jean groans. “I can’t send you home like this. It won’t wear off for a few more hours. You’ll have to stay here.”

You close your eyes, waiting for the room to stop spinning. “That… that sounds good to me.”

He starts to get up. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep here. It’s the least I can do, after—”

You see an opportunity, and your hazy brain is too slow to stop you from taking it. “Hey. Hey, Vic. What if we _shared_ the bed?”

He freezes, and you start chastising your brain for letting you talk. But tonight is just full of surprises, because Jean doesn’t react badly at all. Instead, he _picks you up_ and starts carrying you in the direction of (what you assume is) his bedroom. _He didn’t turn a light on. Vampire night vision must be useful…_

He carefully sets you on the bed, then lies down next to you, pulling the covers up.

“Hey, Vic,” you whisper into the darkness. “Am I your thrall now?”

He snorts. “No. You can’t just ‘become’ a thrall. Takes weeks. Sometimes months.”

You wonder if he knows that from experience.

You move closer to him, resting your head against his shoulder.

“If… If you ever need blood again… You can have more of mine. Anytime.”

“Are you _hitting on me_ , ___?”

Your face flushes with embarrassment. Instead of responding, you close your eyes and give in to exhaustion. 

Just before sleep takes you entirely, you feel Jean move, re-positioning himself, putting an arm around you, whispering into your ear:

“Because I don’t mind if you are, but I’d rather not have to take your blood again.”

**Author's Note:**

> based on an AU some of us on discord came up with. as the resident jeanposter it was my civil duty to write this even if it was ridiculously self-indulgent hfghfg


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